


By Just Exchange

by carolinecrane



Series: Retrograde [28]
Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-02
Updated: 2004-08-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6315073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hasn't forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Just Exchange

He lets himself into the apartment, the silence settling heavily on him as he makes his way down the hall to the bedroom. He retraces the same path he's walked countless times without thinking about it, not stumbling even once on his way to the bed. And even though he can't make out the shape under the covers, he can hear the deep, even breaths that tell him he's not alone.

So he's careful when he kicks his shoes off, pushing them aside and letting the carpet muffle the sound. He reaches for the buttons on his shirt next, slowly easing them open one by one. All the while he listens for the steady rise and fall of breath that lets him know he's not alone – never alone, and he never thought he'd want that again.

His shirt hits the floor with a rustle that sounds louder than it is in the almost pitch black – the dark before dawn, as they say, only the moon never came out tonight at all and he feels like he's been fumbling through darkness forever. His hands shake a little as he slides his jeans off, trying not to think about what he left behind less than an hour ago. A sigh to chase the memory away and he lets his jeans fall onto the carpet with a soft thud that he knows isn't loud enough to wake anyone, but suddenly he wishes it was.

He knows he's not alone, but standing there in the dark just a few feet away from the bed it's easy to imagine that he is. He hasn't forgotten what it's like to come home from a case like the one he just left to an empty apartment, an emptier bed and nothing to remind him that he's alive except the sound of his own harsh breathing in the darkness.

And the case – it's not the worst he's ever seen, but it was bad enough, and even though he spent a full ten minutes scrubbing his hands back at the lab they still feel dirty. There are nights when the gloves don't help – he knows they're for hygiene and not psychological well-being, but that doesn't stop him from wishing they could protect him from that crawling feeling of seeing things no human being should ever have to endure.

His hands feel slick with blood even though he never touched a drop. His nails feel gritty, like there's filth burrowed under them that he'll never be able to wash clean even if he scrubs until he bleeds. And it wouldn't be the first time, but in the end it never helps. He hasn't found anything yet that does help, and that's what makes him hesitate when he should be crawling into bed to curl up next to a warm, comforting body and drift into a dreamless sleep.

Because he's worn out, so exhausted he can hardly stand up and that's the only reason he's here right now. The case is still going, but Horatio ordered him home to get a few hours' sleep and he didn't even try to argue because he knows he's too tired to be any good to anyone. They all are, and he's sure Delko and maybe even Calleigh are both fast asleep by now.

He wonders sometimes if he's the only one who feels this way – knows he's not, because he's seen what the job does to the people around him. They all just find different ways to deal with it, and his problem is that he hasn't really found anything that works. Most of the time he's okay, but on nights like this when there's been too much blood and too many bodies and he can't get clean...those are the nights he wonders why he sticks with it, why he doesn't do what Megan did and bail while he still can.

If he thought it would help he'd get in the shower and scrub until his skin was red and raw, but he's tried that a hundred times before and it doesn't work. So all he can do is try not to think about it, run his hand along the edge of the mattress to guide him and climb into bed next to someone who's only heard about this kind of evil second-hand and God, Speed hopes he never has to see it for himself.

He's still trying to convince himself that he can touch Tyler without feeling sick when the steady breathing shallows, and a second later he hears the sheets rustle and a soft voice in the darkness. "Tim?"

"Yeah," he answers, heart skipping a beat at the blind trust in Tyler's voice.

Tyler murmurs something Speed doesn't catch and when he speaks again his voice is coming from a different angle, so Speed knows he's sitting up. "When'd you get home?"

"A few minutes ago," Speed answers, heart in his throat and he's never wanted anything so much in his life, but he's terrified that if he touches Tyler right now he'll be able to feel the filth embedded in Speed's hands.

It's 3:00 am, and he has to be back at the lab in six hours. Tyler's working in the morning too, and Speed knows he'll hear all about the case as soon as he gets to the lab. It's all anyone will be talking about for a long time, longer than Speed thinks he'll be able to stand, because he was there and it won't just be some bland crime scene photos on the news.

For him the news stories will do what they always do – dredge up every last detail in vivid color, leaving him nauseous and disgusted and feeling like he'll never be clean again. Most of the time he can deal with it, but on nights like this he's not sure why he bothers. He wants to tell Tyler all of it, to say it out loud so maybe he won't feel so much like it's eating away at his insides, but he's afraid if he does that Tyler will be able to feel the evil still clinging to his skin.

He hears Tyler move but he's too tired to be sure exactly where he is, then the air shifts in front of him and he knows Tyler's kneeling on the mattress less than a foot away. A hand reaches out, finding his arm and sliding down until their fingers are entwined together. And for a second he half expects Tyler to feel the thickness of coagulating blood clinging to his fingers, to recoil in fear or disgust, but his hand only tightens more.

"Come to bed," Tyler says, tugging him forward gently until Speed's knees press against the mattress. He lets himself be pulled down onto the sheets, expecting them to feel rough and scratchy against his skin. But they're cool and soft, and when Tyler presses against his side the warmth is more comforting than stifling. "Rough night?"

"Yeah," Speed answers, turning into the sound of Tyler's voice. He kisses along warm skin, mapping angles he knows well enough to navigate even in the dark, until he finally reaches Tyler's mouth. And this is the real test, because surely Tyler will be able to tell when he kisses Speed, he'll taste the coppery tang of death on Speed's tongue and pull away.

Instead he hums contentedly against Speed's mouth and wraps a strong arm around his waist, fingers stroking along his side in a soothing pattern. Speed waits for the panic to set in, for the crawling feeling to resurface, magnifying itself until he's scrambling out of the bed, gasping for air and stumbling toward the bathroom to lock himself in and scrub at his skin until he can't feel anything but the raw sting. Only it doesn't come, and when his mind starts to wander to dead girls in shallow graves Tyler's arm tightens around him and a warm mouth presses close to his ear.

"Hey."

Speed swallows hard and tries to relax – he's not sure when Tyler got to know him quite so well, but for once he's grateful that it happened while he wasn't even looking. "Yeah?"

"My mom called tonight. She's threatening to drag my dad down here to meet you."

And on any other night that kind of news would send Speed into a panic, because he doesn't even talk to his own parents and the thought of meeting somebody else's – of being introduced as 'the boyfriend' when he can barely get himself to say the words as it is – that's the kind of thing that used to make him start looking for the nearest exit. He might even panic about it tomorrow when he's gotten some sleep and he's had a little time to think about it, but for now they're lying tangled together in the dark until he can't tell anymore where he begins and Tyler ends, and the thought of a few days with Tyler's parents doesn't seem so bad.

"Where would they stay?"

"Not here," Tyler answers, his voice telling Speed that that, at least, should be obvious. "There's no way, we wouldn't last a day. Besides, they like to hang out with the other retirees and go golfing. There's a place they always stay when they come to visit – at the most we're talking dinner a couple times, maybe a play or something. They just want to meet you, I promise it'll be mostly painless."

And now that he's picturing an awkward dinner with Tyler's parents, making small talk about his dad's golf game and his mom's charity work, the panic does start to set in. But it's almost…reassuring, familiar in a way he's used to. The sky outside their bedroom is a little lighter than it was when he got home, and when he turns his head he can just make out the curve of Tyler's neck and the mop of sandy hair resting against his shoulder.

"When are they coming?"

He feels Tyler's grin against his chin, hears it in Tyler's voice when he speaks. "Next month. The fifteenth, I think."

"So it wasn't really a threat."

Tyler laughs at that – he sounds sheepish, but Tyler feels so good wrapped around him that he can't bring himself to be mad. "I wasn't sure how you'd react to me springing my folks on you."

That Speed believes, because until a few minutes ago he wasn't sure how he'd react either. And he feels a little bad that Tyler's still unsure of some things between them, but he's trying, and that's all he can really do. "It's fine," he says, his voice catching on a sudden yawn.

Lips brush his jaw before Tyler settles down next to him again, catching one of Speed's hands and pressing their entwined fingers to the center of his chest. "Get some sleep. We can talk about it later."

He's still a little scared to close his eyes, but exhaustion weighs down heavy on them until finally he doesn't have a choice. And it's not that he's forgotten anything he saw tonight; it'll be a long time before he can forget any of that, but Tyler's breathing steady against his neck, and long before he expects it he's drifting into a blessedly dreamless sleep.


End file.
